


The Melody Lingers On

by ScarletR



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But Newt makes everything brighter so..., Credence doesn't know it but he has game, Credence has amnesia, Credence is stuck in obscurus form, Credence loves Newt, Credence takes to Newt like a bee to honey, I know the tags may say otherwise but this story isn't all rainbows and sunshine, M/M, Many sappy one-liners from Credence, Newt is confused but also very charmed, Not-So-Oblivious Newt, You Have Been Warned, oblivious credence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletR/pseuds/ScarletR
Summary: Credence thinks of being human, of having arms and legs, of molding the shadows into hands and fingers and toes. He thinks about the shape of pale shoulders, the slope of a scarred back, the veins under near-translucent skin, of bones and tissue, of muscle and blood.  He thinks of bitter tears falling onto pale cheeks, following the path of sharp cheeks bones until they drip onto a bony clavicle. He thinks of legs connected to knees connected to ankles and then to toes. He thinks of dark hair, dark like the night, like shadows, like the agony consuming him. He thinks of being human, of being alive, of being contained in a cage of flesh and bone and blood and sensation.He thinks of being human.





	1. The Song Is Ended

Credence Barebone didn’t exist anymore, or at least Credence thought as much. His body was gone, turned into dark, inky wisps of shadow and wind. His mind was in shambles, torn apart and spread across the ever changing, ever morphing mass of what he was now. 

A monster. An abomination. A beast. 

It took a while for Credence to think. His mind didn’t work how it used to. His thoughts were like molasses, spreading across his consciousness in slow, steady waves. He could feel the rage, the torrents of hatred and loneliness, of sadness and pain along with the deep, stabbing desire for love, affection, and care. 

But somehow, beyond all that, he could think. 

And that was how Credence eventually learned that he was somewhere warm. That was it, just warm. It soothed a part of him, the part that could remember fragments of nights spent in a dark, freezing room with nothing but a thin, raggedy blanket to keep him warm. 

He couldn’t recall any more than small bits and pieces of what it was like before he tore apart. He could remember being horribly lonely, being unconsolably angry, and being unspeakably hurt. He could remember being cold, feeling small, and feeling like he was alone in the world. 

He couldn’t remember the day he tore apart. He couldn’t remember what set it off, if he had hurt anyone, or if he was even still alive. He had no eyes to see, no body to feel, no lungs to breathe, no ears to hear, and no mouth to speak. All he had were whispering shadows and a deep, dark pain at the center of his being. 

Sometimes, when Credence was able, he wondered who he had been before, if he had been good, or if he’d been bad. Maybe he was deserving of this fate, of the ever constant torture. And that was what it was; torture. 

Every time he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could put himself back together again, he was once again torn apart by the rage, the anger, and the fear swirling endlessly within him. He wasn’t ready, he supposed. Maybe he would never be... 

Till then, he trembled and shrieked, hissed and thundered, suffered and fell back into himself in an endless loop. But at least he was warm, Credence found himself thinking, at least he was warm…. 

*

There were sounds. A lot of sounds, some loud, some soft, others gentle, many were odd. They came from… somewhere. Credence wasn’t sure. 

He wondered where he was and how long he had been there. He wanted to know, he really, really did. But then the fear of the unknown consumed him, and he forgot the question entirely. 

*

Credence didn’t think much for a while, or at least he assumed it was a while. He had no way to tell time, no calendar to check the date, no clock to see the hour. If felt like an eternity had passed, and yet the pain never stopped feeling fresh and raw. 

But eventually, Credence became aware of a voice. 

“Hello, my Dear.” 

The voice was kind and sincere, with a clear British accent. Those three simple words were spoken as if they were normal, as if their kindness wasn’t something completely foreign to Credence. The voice was pleasant, and it sounded close. 

Credence felt his mass tremble at the sound. It scared him deeply, made him want to run and hide, but at the same time he wanted to hear more sweet words. 

“You look smaller than before,” the voice noted, sounding a bit relieved. 

Credence had no way to confirm those words to himself. He could not look down at himself and see, and for that he was grateful. He knew he must’ve made a disgusting sight. He was a monster, an abomination, a beast. 

Silence prevailed for what felt like a long time, but Credence could hear the sound of gentle breathing. The man was still there and for some reason, it felt nice. He was not alone.  


By the time the man walked away, Credence had stopped thinking and hadn’t been able to take notice of the loss of warmth at one of his many, intangible sides. 

*

The voice came back, and for that, Credence was happy. It was a small emotion, one that immediately got attacked and torn apart by the ever encompassing rage and hatred, but it had been there. And for one short moment, it had been nice. 

Credence could hear tentative, slow steps approach him. It sounded like gravel, maybe something softer, but he wasn’t sure. He was vaguely aware of the man’s presence and if he had a body he would have flinched at his painfully desperate desire to be able to see the man’s face. 

“Credence,” the voice said slowly. 

Credence? Yes, that was his name. He could remember being called that before, but it was a shadow of a memory, one that hardly existed at all. 

The voice was closer now. “Credence, are you in there?” 

The voice was nice. It wasn’t too high but wasn’t too deep. It sounded elegant and educated. The sound of the man’s voice felt like a caress, and Credence reveled in the feeling. He wanted to hear more, to listen more.

“Credence, if you’re still in there, even a little bit, please give me a sign.” 

The voice sounded sad. Credence wondered why. 

Did they maybe know each other before? No, Credence was sure he’d remember such a beautiful voice. Yes, beautiful. That was what the man’s voice sounded like. It was like sunlight and smiles, like warmth and affection. 

Credence decided he liked the voice and the man that came with it. He wanted to experience them more and became afraid of losing himself again. How long had be been out last time? How long had be without consciousness? 

He wasn’t sure and it scared him. 

“I didn’t save him,” the voice said in a hushed voice. It sounded farther away now, and it was ripe with sadness and loss. “I didn’t save him. Dear God, I didn’t save him.” 

Save who? Credence wasn’t sure. 

He wondered if the voice tried to save many people. He sounded nice enough, kind enough, and smart enough for it.

“I failed him,” the voice said, now only a faint, pained whisper. 

Not true, Credence found himself thinking. Surely, the beautiful voice couldn’t fail at anything. There had probably just been a mistake, a little mix up. Maybe just – Maybe – he 

Credence was consumed by fear as his thoughts fell to a halt and as his consciousness was dragged into the torrential mist that surrounded him. 

*

When Credence next woke up, or rather, when he was next able to think, it had been to the sound of singing. It was a slow tune, one that rang through Credence like a pulse. The voice sounded a bit far away, but his voice was clear as day and as beautiful as when he had first been blessed enough to hear it. 

The voice was singing a love song and Credence found himself hanging on to ever word, even as his mass trembled and strained with the effort. 

“The song has ended  
But the melody lingers on  
You and the song are gone  
But the melody lingers on”

Credence almost purred at the sound, at the beautiful cadence of the voice. Such sad words with an even sadder melody, but it was soothing and peaceful unlike anything Credence could remember. For once, the many sounds that had surrounded him silenced as if to allow the man’s voice all the more room to wander. 

“The moon descended  
And I found with the break of dawn  
You and the song had gone  
But the melody lingers on”

For a moment, between the wonder and the pain, Credence wondered if the voice was lonely. Did he too feel the pain that came with being alone? Did he sleep alone at night with no one to warm him? Did he too feel an emptiness within him, one that longed for companionship, for love in any form it was willing to present itself? 

Before Credence could guess the answer, his thoughts were long gone, consumed by a sea of mist and darkness. 

*

Credence jolted back into consciousness at the sensation of a presence only centimeters from the undefined barriers of his being. It felt like an electric shock, like energy and warmth, like something alive, something living and breathing and soft. 

Immediately, Credence grasped at it with feeble, nonexistent hands. He wanted to grab onto the fingers that hovered over his mass. He wanted to feel the pulse of the man’s wrist, to touch his skin and feel something that was alive and warm. Credence whined internally, desperate to reach out, to see, to speak, to do anything to prove that he was there. He wanted to hold and to breath, to have a body and face, to be more than mist and shadow. 

“You’re calm,” the voice whispered, achingly close. “You’ve calmed down,” the man said, sounding hopeful. “I… Do you possibly remember me? Recognize me, maybe?” 

No, the answer was no. Credence would have remembered such a beautiful voice, such kind words, such warmth. He couldn’t have forgotten someone so alluring. 

The voice continued. “It’s me, Newt Scamander. I’m a magizoologist, who specializes in the study of magical creatures. I, um, I know we didn’t speak much, I was only really there at the end,” the man ended with an awkward, stilted laugh. “I have brought you here, a little illegally I might add, because I have hope to heal you.” The man continued, sounding both happy and sad, as if he wasn’t sure of what he should be feeling. 

Credence didn’t answer, he couldn’t. He was too preoccupied with the thought of reaching out and touching the man. He imagined what it would be like to open his eyes and get a glimpse of the being he had grown impossibly attached to. He wondered how the man looked, the color of his eyes, the tilt of his mouth, the complexion of his skin, the color of his hair. 

He was so preoccupied with these thoughts, he didn’t even register the fact that he didn’t have a mouth to answer the man’s next question. 

“Credence,” the man whispered, “Are you in there?”

Credence didn’t answer, too busy repeating the name “Newt” over and over in the broken mess that was his consciousness. By the time the man’s name was secure in his memory, Credence fell back into the shadows and was no more. 

*

Over the course of time, of which Credence wasn’t able to measure, Newt began to tell him of a man named Credence Barebone. 

“Credence was an orphan and I nor anyone else really knows how long he spent on the streets before a women named Mary Lou Barebone adopted him into her care.” Newt said once, almost in passing, with a sad, soft voice. “Credence wasn’t the only child she adopted, in fact she adopted two others, but she was no saint. She beat all her children,” Newt whispered, his voice sounding painfully, amazingly close. “However, she seemed to hate Credence the most.” 

As Newt spoke, Credence noted that his voice was beautiful and soothing even when he sounded sad. 

*

“Mary Lou Barebone was a no-maj, which means she wasn’t a wizard. In fact, she hated magic to the point of obsession. She was the founder and leader of the New Salem Philanthropic Society, an extreme anti-witchcraft group.” Newt said one day, or night, or whatever time it happened to be. 

“She told her three children, especially Credence Barebone, that magic was evil, that it was a sin. She beat him when he disagreed with her on anything. She treated him like dirt, like a slave. She was an evil women,” Newt finished with a hiss, sounding angry. 

Mutely, Credence decided that he felt bad for Credence Barebone and hoped he was okay. 

*

“Credence became an obscurial,” Newt said, sounding pained. “The long years of abuse and the stress of keeping in his magic destroyed him. He – he shouldn’t have lived as long as he did. Most obscurus die during childhood, but Credence was strong, he was resilient,” Newt preached, passion in his voice. 

“I had hoped to save him, to maybe cure him, or at least help him learn to live with his illness, but I failed… or at least a part of me suspects I have.” 

Credence heard soft, tentative footsteps as Newt moved closer. It made him want to reach out, to touch, to hold, to see. 

“Credence Barebone,” Newt whispered, achingly close, “Are you in there?” 

It was at this point that Credence decided he was jealous of Credence Barebones and how lovely the man’s name sounded with Newt’s voice. 

*

“Credence Barebone was trusting and vulnerable. He wanted love more than anything… and I suppose that’s why Grindelwald targeted him. He disguised himself as Percival Graves and told Credence many promises.” 

Credence mulled over the name “Percival Graves,” finding it familial. It stuck to the back of his mind, like an itch, a rash, a bleeding, festering wound. Credence wanted to claw at it, to rip it out, to sink his teeth into it and tear it from his consciousness.

Credence’s thoughts began to muffle like static. He could feel the anger fester and grow, felt his form ache and burn. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. 

“Grindelwald promised to teach him magic. He promised him a home, a place to belong. He – “ 

Credence felt something deep within him boil and brim over. It felt like sadness, like loss, like the bitter sting of betrayal. With it came anger, so much it reached seemed to reach up and pull him down, drowning him. He wanted to thrash against it, to scream and cry and beg. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? 

The voice cut off with a gasp. “Cr – Credence? I’m sorry, I – I’ve seemed to have upset you.” Newt let out a broken, happy laugh. “My God, you’re in there aren’t you? You’re in there, I knew it! Oh, Credence,” Newt soothed, his voice sounding closer. “I’m going to help you, Credence. Hang in there, please. I will not leave you. I will never leave you.” 

I sounded like a promise. It was sweet and tantalizing. It was warmth and love, it was kind and caring, it was soft and soothing. As Credence was dragged into himself, into the pain and loss and despair, he found himself thinking “I love you” to the voice, the man, the beautiful being who made his existence brighter than he thought possible. 

*

At one point, Credence tried to say it. ‘I love you’ he though, but nothing came out. ‘I love you, Newt Scamander.’ He thinks it again, and again, and again, but with no body, no mouth, and no voice, he Is unable to express what he so wholly and surely feels. 

He hurts, he pains, and he aches. He screams and he cries. He hates, and he despairs. But he loves Newt Scamander, a man he does not see, does not feel, but one he hears and one he treasures. 

It feels almost like healing. Almost. 

*

Credence wants to move. He wants to follow Newt wherever he goes and bask in the glow of his laugh, of his jokes, of his voice. It is the only joy Credence finds in his meager existence and he decides he wants more. 

So, one day he tries to move. 

He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t have legs to move or feet to balance himself on, and he doesn’t have eyes to see where he’s going. The mass of shadows and darkness that consumes him is never steady, always shaking, and is formed by the chaotic winds that whisper endless gibberish. 

But maybe he can change the current of those winds? Maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough….

When Credence feels himself move, when he feels the shift in the air and the current of the wind change for a quick moment, he feels victory even as his thoughts fade away and turn to dust. 

*

“Have you… have you moved?” 

Newt’s voice sounds awed, as if he couldn't believe his own words. 

“Credence?” 

Newt’s stepping closer, Credence can tell by the sound of his footsteps. They always sound steady, always ready for anything. It seems every aspect of Newt amazes him. 

Newt lets out a happy laugh. Its light and nervous, but oh so joyous. “You moved,” Newt says breathlessly. “You moved. This is – this is amazing! Credence, I am so proud of you.” 

‘I love you Newt Scamander’ Credence thinks, but once again, it doesn’t come out. 

*

Credence decides he wants to see Newt. He wants to see the man’s face, his features, his hands, his smile. He wants to see Newt so badly it hurts. 

He wants hands to touch, a mouth to speak, a body to move. He wants to escape the pain, the torture, the despair. He wants to open his eyes, to wake from the nightmare. 

He wants a body. 

He wants to breathe, he wants to walk, to run, to fight and heave and cry and feel. He wants to be human again, even if only for a moment. He wants to follow Newt on two feet and laugh with him, speak to him, accompany him. 

He wants to be alive. 

Credence thinks of being human, of having arms and legs, of molding the shadows into hands and fingers and toes. He thinks about the shape of pale shoulders, the slope of a scarred back, the veins under near-translucent skin, of bones and tissue, of muscle and blood. He thinks of bitter tears falling onto pale cheeks, following the path of sharp cheeks bones until they drip onto a bony clavicle. He thinks of legs connected to knees connected to ankles and then to toes. He thinks of dark hair, dark like the night, like shadows, like the agony consuming him. He thinks of being human, of being alive, of being contained in a cage of flesh and bone and blood and sensation. 

He thinks of being human. 

He can feel the shadows move, he can feel the cold touch his skin, the gradual fade of whispers and screams. He can feel air enter his lungs, his hair fall around his shoulders, and he can feel his neck and chest and legs. He feels the air rush past him as he falls to the floor. 

The impact hurts, it shakes his newly formed bones, rattles his skull and sends his nerves into a frenzy. His breath is knocked out of his lungs and he panics. He cannot remember how to breathe. 

Credence shakes and claws at the ground with pale, weak hands. His fingernails crack and break as he digs his fingers into the ground, desperate for air. His chest hurts and he keeps blinking, blinded by even the smallest amount of light. His throat burns and he is vaguely aware of the tears spilling over his eyelids and down his pale face. 

He struggles as the muscles of his body flex and spasm His skin feels taunt and cold. His collapsed form feels as if it was barely being held together. He wants to close his eyes, to sleep, to fade away. He feels so weak, so tired. He could feel his own life slip through his fingers.

He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die. 

He hears a voice in the distance. 

“Credence? Credence, dear? I heard a noise, are you okay – “ 

He heard something crash to the ground. 

“CREDENCE!”

He hears rapid footsteps and can feel it when someone kneels right beside him. He knows that the person wants to help, that they’re almost as scared as he is, but it’s only when the man touches his back, when warm, soft palms press against his skin that Credence realizes it’s Newt. Newt Scamander, Magizoologist, his savior, his sunshine. 

Suddenly, Credence is able to force air into his lungs, and when he does it’s in a great heave that hurts down to his very bones. 

He is alive. He is alive and it hurts.

“Credence,” Newt’s beautiful voice is shaking, awe and wonder audible in his voice. “How did you – this is – “ 

Credence doesn’t remember how to control his muscles, struggles to understand how to tell his body to move, but he somehow finds himself facing Newt and suddenly light isn’t the only thing that’s blinding. 

Newt’s skin has a healthy glow, one that speaks of long days spent under the sun. His hair is almost red, almost blond, almost brown and curles elegantly into long, voluminous strands. His cheeks bones are sharp and compliment the shape of his mouth. His eyebrows are almost thin, almost thick, but his eyes… his eyes are a beautiful hazel. They shine with concern and worry, and they’re painfully sincere. 

Credence doesn’t remember how to speak. His tongue feels heavy and he isn’t used to the weight of gravity holding him down. He doesn’t know how he looks, doesn’t know whether or not his body is grotesque or ghastly. He doesn’t know whether he looks like a monster. 

But he knows one thing and has ached to express that sentiment for what feels like an eternity. 

“I – I,” Credence gasps, struggling to form words. 

Newt leans in, his eyes wide and worried. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” 

Credence can feels the seams of his body loosen. He can feel the whispers behind his eyes, the flesh of his body begin to tear and fade. He can feel the current of wind and darkness between his bones, refusing to hold him together any longer. 

Credence reaches his hand out, mist rising from his fingertips. He reaches for Newt’s face, wanting to touch, to caress, to feel. 

“I love you N-Newt Scamander,” he barely, just barely manages to whisper before his body is gone and darkness takes its place once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Newt Scamander stared at the dark mass in front of him, at the morphing, swirling shadows, and finds that he is speechless. 

Credence had… he’d made a body. One that was pale and weak and shaking, but it had been a body. Black mist had risen from his skin like smoke, as if a great fire had been burning just under his flesh. His body had shook and Credence’s face had been pale and scared. He had clawed at the ground and dark red blood had erupted from his fingertips. His back had twitched, and tears flooded had his dark eyes. His long, dark locks has fallen around his face, making his skin look all the more pale. There had been such fear in his eyes, such hope, such pain. He hadn’t been wearing any clothing, making the many scars littering his body visible to the naked eye. 

There had been many old scars littering the man’s back, many around his hands and wrists, and one, Newt noted, had been right on the edge of the man’s hairline. When Credence had reached out, when his pale, shaking hand had reached for Newt’s face, a drop of blood had landed on the ground between them. Newt had been able to make out the many veins under Credence’s skin, but most of all, he could see just how much energy it had taken to move his limbs at all. 

Credence stared at him like he wasn’t real, like he was in a dream or experiencing a hallucination. His eyes were full of tears, but for a moment, his expression had been one of bliss and happiness. Newt had never seen someone look so beautiful and so tragic in all his life. 

“I love you N-Newt Scamander.” 

Newt didn’t even have time to gape before Credence’s body faded away into clouds of smoke and shadows. His dark, scared eyes had turned into mist and joined the mass that was hovering over him now. 

Credence Barebone loved him. 

Newt was still on his knees, shock and awe running through his system. His breaths were quick and unsteady, and his skin felt clammy and flushed. 

“Come back to me, Credence,” he whispered, guilt and hope burning painfully in his chest. “I believe in you.” 

He didn’t leave Credence’s side for the rest of the night, eager to see if he’d become human again. During that time, Newt talks and talks and talks, wanting Credence to know he’s there. The next morning, when there’s no change, Newt has no choice but to leave and tend to the rest of his magical creatures. 

*

Newt is beautiful, Credence thinks. His hair looked soft and his face had been pleasant and handsome. He had freckles and his eyes had been luminous and alluring. His voice had been as entrancing as ever, but seeing his face had only amplified its beauty. Credence regrets not being able to touch his skin, not being able to speak more than those five words. 

He tries to create a body again and fails. 

It hurts more than he can say. 

*

One day, Newt says something curious. 

“Do you know who you are, Credence Barebone?” His voice is contemplative, almost a tease, but not really. Credence can imagine the man’s face, how his lip would turn up at one corner and how his eyes would twinkle like stars. 

Yes, Credence wants to say. He’s Credence. A monster, abomination, and beast. 

“You’re are obscurus, but you’re also a man. You’re human. You’re not a monster, no matter what others may think.” 

Newt is sweet enough to lie, Credence notes. But he knows, deep inside, that he really is evil and wrong and twisted. He should not exist, death would be better than living as he is. But he’s too much of a coward to die. 

“You’re alive and it’s a miracle, Credence. You’re a miracle.” 

Newt sounds breathless and Credence enjoys how it rings around his mind like church bells. He once again regrets not being able to touch Newt’s face, not being able to hold the man’s jaw in his hands and really look at him. Credence wants to stare into his eyes for eternity and communicate with his gaze alone just how much Newt has saved him. 

Credence decides he wants a body.

*

The second time Credence creates a body, it works better than the first. When he falls the impact isn’t as painful and he remembers how to breath. He heaves on the floor, remembering to inhale and then exhale over and over again. His muscles hurt and his bones ache, but this time he can see easier. The light isn’t as blinding, and he remembers that he doesn’t have to blink ever second. This time the air doesn’t feel cold and he doesn’t feel as if he’s about to tear at the seams. His mouth isn’t dry, and tears don’t invade his eyes and blur his vision. 

He feels okay… he feels okay. 

“Credence?” 

Credence snaps his head around and stares at Newt, who’s pulling aside a sheet of cloth and staring right at him with wide eyes. They both gape at each other for a single tense second, a flurry of emotions thundering between them. Suddenly, Newt’s face erupts into a brilliant smile and he rushes over to Credence’s naked form. 

Newt kneels by his side, his eyes brimming with joy. His face is only inches away from Credence’s and the obscurus struggles to keep himself from moving even closer. 

“You did it,” Newt breathes. 

Credence doesn’t know what to say, but he remembers the first thing he could remember being told and croaks, “Hello, my Dear.” It doesn’t sound as reassuring as when Newt had first said it, but Credence hopes it’s enough. 

Credence watched at a blush made its way up Newt’s neck and onto the expanse of his cheeks. His mouth was agape, and he stared at Credence like he’d grown a second head, and Credence really hoped he hadn’t. After a moment, Newt let out a shaky breath and moved to touch Credence’s shoulder. But before he could, Credence supported himself on his knees and reached out with both hands. Before Newt could pull away, Credence grasped the man’s jaw and held it in place. 

Newt froze, his eyes wide. “Um, Credence? I – “ 

Newt’s skin was soft and smooth. His freckles stood out against the blush staining his cheeks and his hazel eyes were more visible when he was surprised. His eyebrows were high on his face and his hair was a bit tousled from running. 

“You are more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured, mostly to himself, but Newt heard it nonetheless. 

Newt cleared his throat, his cheeks getting a shade darker than before. “Credence, we must get you dressed.” 

“Hmm,” Credence hummed. He continued to study the man’s face, wanting to remember every detail. He knew his body would disappear eventually and he didn’t want to risk forgetting anything about Newt’s face. 

Newt gripped Credence’s arms and helped him to his feet. Credence’s legs shook with the effort and Newt averted his gaze, very aware of the fact that the man was naked. Credence let out a sigh as Newt wrapped one of his arms around his middle to help him stand. The contact was warm, kind, and just firm enough to be reassuring. He wanted to move closer, to maybe grab one of Newt’s hands and study them, or maybe get another good look at his face, or maybe – 

“Wh-where am I?” Credence asked, looking at his surrounding with curious, confused eyes. 

“Oh! You’re in my suitcase,” Newt beamed. 

Credence blinked. “Suitcases are small,” he reasoned slowly, still finding it a bit difficult to speak. “This place is not small.” 

“Oh, thank you,” Newt gushed. “I worked very hard on it.” 

Credence found himself wanting to smile at that response, but found he lacked the energy to do so. He looked around at the many tarps surrounding them and wondered why they were painted to look like the sky. 

How long had he been surrounded by such beautiful art without a clue? How long had be truly been blind to what surrounded him? But then, Newt pushed past one of the many hanging sheets and Credence didn’t hide a gasp at the amazing sights before him. 

Animals like he had never seen before littered the giant space, some big, some small, many colorful, and some shining like stars. They inhabited their own spaces, each one looking healthy and happy. Some of them chirped like birds, some howled like wolfs, and a few seemed to speak to each other in tongues that were completely unfamiliar to him. It was amazing, absolutely amazing. 

So that was what Credence had been hearing for so long… 

“This is – “ Credence gasped out, his dark eyes wide with awe and wonder, “This is amazing.” 

Newt chuckled at his side, his teeth practically twinkling as he smiled. “I’ve been wanting to show you all this for months now, Credence. I’m so very glad you like it.” 

Credence blinked, feeling those words like a punch in the gut. “How long have I been here?” he asked, his voice hollow to his own ears. 

Newt’s expression sobered and he looked down at his feet. He clicked his shoes together, seemingly reluctant, before finally saying, “Well, you’ve been living in my suitcase for about a year now.” 

Credence took in a slow, shaky breath. “A year?” 

Newt sent him an awkward smile. “Um, yes.” 

Credence was once again very, very afraid. 

*

Credence could hardly remember walking through the expanse of Newt’s beautiful briefcase, somehow finding the strength to climb up a latter, and putting on the simple clothing he was now wearing, but he could remember walking in a dim room and sitting upon the first piece of furniture he saw, which just so happened to be a small, wooden chair placed snuggly against a corner of the room. The walls were made of a dark wood, one that accentuated the room’s furniture. It was warm and cozy, much like the man who Credence couldn’t stop staring at. 

Newt stood a few feet away, ringing his hands a bit nervously. After a moment, he finally sat down on an adjacent chair and asked Credence, “Do you remember who you are?” 

“I’m Credence.” 

Newt beamed. “Yes! You are Credence Barebone.” 

Credence shook his head. “No,” he said softly, slowly. “You told me about Credence Barebone. I’m just Credence.” 

Newt’s smile quickly fell, and he leaned forward in his seat, openly worried. “What is the last thing you remember?” 

Credence thoughts about the many tiny, miniscule fragments of memory littering his mind like broken shards of glass. None of them were big enough to truly call a memory, so he dismissed them as possible answers. So, instead he said, “I can remember your voice. You said, ‘Hello, my dear.’” 

Newt let out a breath, flustered. “Oh, I didn’t know you could hear me.” 

“I’m glad I did,” Credence said in a rush, nodding stiffly. “I am v-very glad I did.” 

Newt seemed to struggle for words before asking in an unsteady voice, “Do you remember me, Credence?” 

“Yes,” he replied. “You’re Newt Scamander.” 

Newt smiled at that, but it wavered. “Yes, that’s correct. But do you remember me from before – “ Newt stammered, “ – before you took your obscurus form, I mean.” 

“No, I would’ve remembered you,” Credence said with complete confidence. 

Newt tilted his head to the side, openly curious. “Oh, why’s that?” 

“Because you have a beautiful voice,” Credence replied, his dark eyes completely sincere, if not a bit shy. 

Newt rubbed at his neck nervously. “Oh, thank you,” he stuttered. 

Credence brought his knees to his chest and huddled in on himself. He stared at Newt, never wanting to look away, and spoke. “You think I’m Credence Barebone,” he stated. 

Newt nodded. “Why, yes. That’s because you are.” 

Credence shook his head. “No.” 

Newt let out a small, unsure laugh. “I’m not sure how to convince you otherwise. You seem to be suffering from amnesia.” 

Credence mulled over those words, over the possibility. He didn’t like it. “I am not Credence Barebone. I don’t like him.” 

Newt’s eyes widened and he blinked, taken aback. “Why not?” he whispered, in a melancholic voice. 

When Credence spoke, he sounded a bit bitter and a sly bit petulant. “You say his name more than mine.” 

With a tiny sound, Newt held his face in his hands and wondered just what he was going to do with Credence Ba – no, he supposed that wasn’t who he was anymore. The man was just Credence now, or at least believed he was. 

Newt looked back up and saw that Credence was still staring at him with those dark, longing eyes. It tugged at his heart strings, making him want to grab the man a warm drink and fluffy blanket. He held back on that instinct and instead asked, “What do you remember?” 

Credence looked down at his hands and thought about how to articulate an answer. He studied his pale skin, his short, smooth fingernails, the zigzagging veins under his flesh, and finally replied. “I thought I was dead at first.” 

Newt eyes softened at those words, sympathy shining in his beautiful amber irises. 

“I thought that maybe I was in h – hell, or that my spirit was trapped somewhere,” Credence continued, his voice soft. “But then I heard noises. I couldn’t identify them, but they were there.” He squinted, attempting to remember. “I wasn’t conscious all the time. I’d disappear, or just stop thinking, or something like that. I don’t – I don’t know.” 

Credence looked up and into Newt’s eyes, and when he spoke, he sounded nothing less than reverent. “But then I heard you. After that, I knew I wasn’t in danger.” 

“Credence, I – “

“You have a beautiful singing voice.” 

Newt’s face turned a scarlet color and he looked away, horror and embarrassment dawning on his features. “You – uh, you heard that?” he squeaked. 

Credence nodded stiffly. “Yes. Your voice was my favorite thing to hear.” 

Newt frowned that those words, “You couldn’t see?”

“I could hear, but I got tired of only listening to you. I wanted to see you,” Credence looked down at himself, at the body that felt so unfamiliar and yet familiar to him, “So I decided I’d create a body.” A small smile graced his lips and his dark, bottomless eyes brightened. “I’m glad it works.”

Newt stared at Credence’s smile for a moment, entranced by its warmth and sincerity. His pale skin and long dark hair made him look otherworldly, and he spoke as if he truly had no identity to fall back on. He looked down at his body as if it were a foreign object despite it being the same body he had before he got trapped in his obscurus form. 

Newt took in a slow breath, feeling his heart constrict in his chest. “You made this body… for me?” 

Credence tilted his head to the side. “Who else would I have made it for?” 

That startled a laugh of out Newt and he attempted to muffle it with his hand unsuccessfully. Credence’s eyes widened at the sound and he studied Newt’s face like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

Newt breaks off into small giggles, hardly believing the situation is even real. “You are – you are an odd one Credence.” He sent the pale man a wide smile, one that seemed to glow with promise and potential. “Welcome to my home. I hope you’ll be staying a while.” 

Credence thought it wasn’t possible to love Newt more than he already did, but it was now a feat proved to be more and more possible with each moment he looked upon the other’s brilliant face.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope ya'll liked the chapter! I live for comments and kudos, and if you found any spelling errors, please tell me and I'll fix them immediately!


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